


Hot Coffee

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barista Castiel, Big Brother Dean, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Musician Castiel, Obsession, Poverty, Sam Leaves for Stanford, Sam Winchester at Stanford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 10:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5287529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean knows Sam doesn't want to see him. But he also knows his nerdy little brother is probably feeling lonely during the holiday season, and anxious about his first exam week at Stanford. So Dean pays the blue-eyed guy at the campus cafe to deliver coffee and words of encouragement during finals. Cas is glad he took the job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Worst Night of Dean's Life

He should have done this before now. Maybe he was stubborn. Maybe he was a coward. He was ashamed to think it might be the latter.

Dean hadn’t been truly angry with Sam. Hell, he’d been proud of him. Things had gotten out of hand that night when the news broke. When the family broke. When Dean’s heart broke. John had been unyieldingly resentful. As always, Dean had been immediately torn between the two, and his attempts at peacemaking had done nothing but drive him apart from them both. Dean would never understand his brother. But he wanted him to be happy. Unfortunately, Dean had never had much ability to stand up to their father, and when Sam had turned to him for support, he had faltered. It was unforgivable. Sam had looked at him with those pleading, puppy eyes, and John had looked at him with that hard, dark stare, and Dean had buckled.

Unforgivable.

His head was pounding. It had been a two day drive, and he hadn’t been able to sleep much on the way. He just kept running that last night through his head.

“It isn’t going to cost-”

“That’s not the point!” John had roared.

Dean’s stomach was churning by this point, the way it always did when the other two were yelling. He had been blown back by Sam’s revelation. Sam had worn a Washburn hoodie for so long, it was threadbare. He had assumed...He had convinced himself that Sam would be happy being a half hour away in Topeka, studying pre-law and coming home every weekend. Maybe even living at home and commuting for his freshman and sophomore years, and then the two of them could find an apartment to share, and Dean could find work in an auto shop, and…

And clearly that was Dean’s design, not Sam’s. It turned out that Dean’s dream was Sam’s backup plan. The realization had shattered his heart, and nearly made him throw up.

If only Sam had told him when it was just the two of them. If Sam had given him time to get used to the idea, maybe he would have been ready for John’s arguments, and he could have been more supportive. But he had been blindsided.

“Didn’t...didn’t even know...you were applying so far away,” he choked out beneath the shouts of the other men.

They didn’t even seem to hear him. “For one thing,” John had pointed out, “there are plenty of expenses involved in you being out there that have nothing to do with tuition!”

“Room, books and board, Dad!” Sam had shouted back. “That means they cover the meal plan, the housing-”

“And another thing!” John never waited for Sam to finish his arguments if he could help it. Dean suspected that was why Sam wanted to go into law, so that he could at last make an entire argument without someone interrupting him. “You have no car! How are you getting there?”

“I’ll fly out. I’ve got some money saved-”

“Dammit, Sam, you are not leaving the family like this! We are all that’s left; don’t you understand that? You have always been selfish!”

Dean had flinched. “Dad…”

“Selfish! Because I want the best goddamn education I can get? Because I want to get out of this city, and live my own life? Because unlike Dean, I don’t plan to live under your thumb forever?”

It felt like a slap in the face, but Dean knew it was just the anger talking. It hurt, but it was instantly forgiven. “Sammy, you don’t have to-”

John’s nostrils were flaring, and his voice got dangerously quiet. “Sam, you are not going to California. That’s final. I’d sooner see you not go to school at all.”

The older son was trembling. There was no way to make it stop. He just hoped no one could see it.

“I have done everything, been everything, you have ever asked of me! I will not give this up now.”

“You think you’re better than us,” John hissed. “You always have. You think you’re too good for this life.”

Sam was too good for this life, Dean knew. His chest was tight, and tears were burning his eyes and closing his throat.

“That’s not true!” Sam insisted. “But I want more! I can be more! Don’t you get it? Dad, this can’t be what you want for me!”

“It’s good enough for your brother!”

Sam shook his head, almost sadly. “No, Dad. It’s not. But...but I guess it’s what he wants. I want something different, and I’m going to get it. I worked my ass off for this. I’m going. I’m not asking permission. I’m just informing you of my decision.”

Something in John had snapped then. “If you leave now, you better never come back.”

Vomit rose in Dean’s mouth, and he choked it down. He watched the horror, the hurt, fill Sam’s eyes, and it devastated him. Slowly, Sam turned to him, and stared into Dean’s face. “Come with me,” he whispered hoarsely. Tears slid down his red cheeks. “Get out of here. I’m going, Dean. Come with me.”

Those eyes. God, those eyes.

Dean never should have looked back at his father.

John frowned severely. “Dean,” he breathed in that tone Dean had never been able to disobey.

He had stumbled backward two steps. “I’ll…” He swallowed hard. “I’ll help you pack.”

The betrayal in both sets of eyes was enough to tear his heart asunder. With four words, he had managed to shock and fail them both. No one could disappoint quite like Dean Winchester.

Sam’s last words to him were filled with hurt. “Don’t bother. I’m already gone.”

The door had slammed behind him, and he hadn’t seen his brother again.

The school refused to give him any information about Sam. They would not even confirm that he was a student there. He had scoured the internet for his brother for months, before finding a social media site that listed a Sam Wesson located in Palo Alto. He had become convinced that was his brother, though no photographs were posted. It was clearly a Stanford pre-law student. But Dean did not have the courage to contact him.

So here he was, in the beginning of December, standing lost in a campus cafe at Stanford University, feeling every bit the uneducated, stupid, dirty, poor white trash boy that he was and always would be.

But he gave the young man behind the counter a gorgeous grin, because he was Dean Winchester, and he had no intentions of letting the world see anything but his disarming charisma and charm. He was ninety percent crap. But he could hide that when he wanted to.

“So, to be clear...You want me to find a kid named Sam, and deliver him coffee every day during finals...but you don’t want me to tell him who it’s from.”

Dean’s head was throbbing, and his heart was racing, but he gave the guy a slow, easy smile. In his sweetest Kansan accent, he replied, “That all right?”

“Yeah, I mean…” The guy was blushing a bit, and it took just a moment for Dean to realize he was getting the same reaction from this man that he tended to get from women. Huh. A good looking gay guy. Even better. “We don't normally…”

“Look,” he said, leaning across the counter lazily, treating the man to his most handsome smile. He pulled a picture from his wallet to show Sam's senior photo. “Sam's kind of a nerd. And he's pretty much alone. Now that he's broken up with his boyfriend.” A little fib to press the issue home couldn't hurt.

The man stared at the picture. “Wow. I mean…” He cleared his throat.

“So I know the guy. He's going to be a wreck for finals week. He always was in high school. And I remember how he chugged coffee, vanilla latte crap, every day during his senior finals, and…” He was beginning to falter now. “I don't know. I just thought...He doesn't need his big brother bothering him. But I want him to have what he needs, and know somebody's pulling for him, you know? That somebody cares about him.”

“Well...I'm Cas. And I'm a sophomore, so I remember how freaking scary first year finals are. So...I mean, yeah, okay. Give me his name again, and I'll do what I can.”

Dean grinned sincerely this time. He caught the guy sneak another look down at the photo before he put it away. He had never noticed his brother was that attractive, but he guessed that and stubbornness were the most dominant of the Winchester genes. “Thanks, man. Really.” He pulled his cash from the wallet, then put it away. “I'm just taking it on faith that you're not going to take my money for nothing.” He handed him six twenties.

Cas shrugged. “No problem.” He handed back three of the bills. “It doesn't cost that much to drive to the dorms with a latte every morning. You want a message delivered with the coffees?”

He sighed. “You're a good guy, Cas,” he murmured. Then he frowned. “Yeah, okay. Give me a minute. Let me think.”

The young man smiled at him. “Tell you what. You write on six cups, and I'll deliver one a day to this Sam kid. That work?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I like that.”

Cas rummaged behind the counter, then handed Dean a permanent marker and a stack of cups. He pointed to the tables nearby. “When you're done, come on back. You drink coffee yourself?”

“Uh...Uh, yeah. Black.” Dean tried to juggle the cups and pen while taking out his wallet again.

“Dude. I can do a black coffee on the house. What kind of roast?”

Dean blinked. “Um...normal kind.”

Cas laughed, but not unkindly. “Yeah, okay. I'll bring it out to you.”

He stared at the back of the guy's head for a moment, then retreated to the nearest table. He bit into his lip, took a deep breath, and began to write.


	2. Chilled

Sam was going to flunk Spanish. He blamed the Kansan accent. "If it were just a written exam, I'd be fine!" he sighed miserably, pulling his blanket high over his chest.  
He had three layers on, and it was still cold in his room. It was just as well that he had no time to sleep if he was determined not to fail off his scholarship. There was a chill he couldn't shake that wouldn't let him sleep anyway.

"You can't just memorize your way out of this test, Sam," Ellie muttered. “The oral part isn't that difficult. Just listen and respond.”

"Easy for you to say. I forget. Which part of Cuba did your family come from?"

"The Idaho part," she responded without bothering to look up.

Sam smirked at her. "Have a heart for some of us who didn't spend the first eight years of our lives perfecting our tongue roll." He rolled over onto his stomach on his bed, yanking his blanket with him.

"What did you spend your first eight years doing?"

He rolled his eyes. “Learning English.”

“Bet you wish you could get that time back.”

He snorted. Ellie was the only tutor Sam Winchester had ever needed, and she was completely unsympathetic, but at least she was fun. “You know, when I tutored kids in math, I tended to, you know...help them.”

“You paying me this round?”

Sam cringed. “Not so much.” He lowered his face into his Spanish book. He wished he could afford to get a space heater. He wasn’t supposed to have one in the dorms, but it would probably be worth trying to sneak it. Not that he would be living in the dorms once he failed all his finals. He wouldn't be living in anything. He had no home outside of the dorms. He would probably freeze to death. In Palo Alto. He would probably, in fact, be the first person ever to freeze to death in Palo Alto. It would be his crowning achievement after a promising but ultimately disappointing run of two decades on the planet.

“Then I’m here for moral support only.”

“You’re horrible moral support.” There came a knock on the door, and Sam groaned. Ellie smirked at him. “It’s unlocked!” he called from inside the textbook and blanket fort which had been built around him over the past hour.

There was a pause, then the door to Sam’s room opened slowly, but Sam could not see from his angle who was there.

“Unless you're the coffee fairy, go away!” he hissed under his breath.

A deep voice stuttered. “I, uh...Who is Sam?”

“You’re looking at her,” Ellie responded, with a wink at the man on his bed. “Who’s asking?”

The man who emerged from the hall looked confused, but Sam barely noticed. He was distracted by the image he made with his tilting dark head haloed by the hall lighting. His eyes were narrowing, but they were incredibly blue, and Sam lifted himself to stare at the handsome face. “You...you’re Sam? I thought…” He cleared his throat. “Is this some weird prank?”

Ellie crossed her arms over her chest. “That depends. Who are you?”

The cute little frown on the gorgeous face was too much. Sam let out a chuckle, and the blue eyes were drawn to him on the other side of the room. A pink flush warmed the impressive cheekbones. “Oh,” he murmured.

Sam snickered from inside his blankets. “Sorry. Ellie’s pre-vet, and the chemistry final is turning her into a bitch. I’m Sam.”

The eyes lowered, which was a shame, since Sam was enjoying them, but it was so adorable and shy, he didn’t mind so much. “I’m, um...I’m Cas. I brought you...coffee.”

His own eyes widened, and a delighted laugh fell out when his mouth dropped. “You what?”

There was another clearing of the throat. “I’m Cas, and I was asked to bring you coffee. Vanilla latte. Actually.” He held out the large cup, as his blush spread and reddened.

“Ellie!” Sam cried out. “Angels do exist! And they heard my prayer!”

Ellie’s eyebrow quirked suspiciously. “Who delivers coffee? Is that...is that a cup from the campus cafe? Seriously? I’ve never heard of the cafe delivering before. Give me this.” Before Cas could stop her, she had taken the cup and sipped it.

“Hey! I…” Cas looked to be at an utter loss.

Sam glared at her.

“Wow. Sam, you didn’t pray to angels. You sold your soul for this. This is incredible. I’ll accept this as payment for your tutoring today.”

“Oh no you don’t!” he corrected, swiping the cup from her, feeling the sweet warmth wash over his hands. “Go find your own devil to sell your soul to. This one’s mine.” He winked at Cas and drank from the cup. “Ow. Crap, that’s hot. Who the hell…”

His words faded when he saw the handwriting on the cup. All capital letters, crisp, efficient. He knew that handwriting as well as he knew his own. That was writing from the same hand that had helped him learn to write. That was the writing that had appeared on his brown bag on his first day of school back in second grade, telling him he was going to be fine. That was the writing on the card from Santa with the promise that next year’s Christmas would be better. That was the writing on the permission slip when Sam had begged to go to the museum with the other kids in seventh, and the money wasn’t there, but somehow it had been paid for by the deadline. That was the writing on the note giving him the blessing to take the Impala to the prom, and the threat that hurting the Baby of the family would be the last thing he ever did. That was the writing on the note that had greeted him on his last day of junior year in high school, telling him how proud he made his family. It was the writing on the single sheet of paper sneaked into the bag, which he’d had to return for while everyone else was at work, after storming out of the house for the final time, telling him he hoped he found what he was looking for, and a reminder to call if he ever needed anything.

**_YOU CAN DO THIS, KIDDO!_ **

Sam had laughed with Ellie, and joked about his Spanish final, but in reality, the stress had been crushing him. He had been awake for nearly seventy hours, and before that, he had taken just a two hour nap. It wasn't cold in Palo Alto, not really. That’s how he always reacted to stress, by struggling to stay warm. It was part of why he always reached for coffee. Fear manifested as a chill for Sam. It always had.

Dean knew that.

“It’s from my brother,” he whispered. He looked up to find curious blue eyes watching him. “Cas? Who sent you with this? Where is he?”

The man shrugged awkwardly. “He, uh…He made me promise to tell you to not worry about that. That he wasn't going to come get in your way. He just, um...just wanted to, uh, let you know somebody was thinking of you. Said he swears he's not going to bother you.”

Sam’s eyes closed. He felt the warmth seeping into his bones. There was always a numbness that came with the chill, no matter how psychosomatic it was. That was dissipating as well, leaving a fond, lonely ache as he thought of his brother coming all this way just to check on him, to write him this note-exactly what he needed, right when he needed it-and then slipping away because he didn't want to disrupt Sam's new life.

It was so Dean.

“Sam?” Ellie said quietly. “You okay?”

**_YOU CAN DO THIS, KIDDO!_ **

He smiled. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah. I'm good. I can do this. Cas, thank you. Seriously. Do I owe for the delivery?”

Cas was smiling too. “No. Just enjoy it.”

“You're the Angel of Coffee, Cas.”

He laughed. “I knew I was more important than afternoon shift associate.”

“Your, uh, your name tag says Steve.”

Cas glanced down and shrugged. “I also have one that says Clarence. There's a journalism student, Cassie, who works there too, and nobody can say my full name, so I make up a new one every semester.”

Sam was smiling at him happily. “What's your real name?”

“Castiel Sterkte.”

Ellie whistled.

“See?”

Sam reached a now-warm hand out to him, and they shook. Castiel's long fingers tightened around his, and it was a warm two-handed shake that made Sam happy. “Castiel. It's awesome to meet you. Thank you so much for this. If you see him again...Just...Just tell him...He's not bothering me.”

Castiel nodded. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

Hazel eyes blinked. “Tomorrow?”

The handsome stranger smiled at him kindly. “He ordered one a day for all of finals. Each with a new message.”

Tears were stinging now, but he sighed. “You really don't know where he is? I can't call him. He only has the landline, and that's in Kansas.”

“I'm sorry, Sam.”

“It's all right,” he decided. “It's just like Dean to disappear like that. Thank you.”

Castiel watched him. “My pleasure, Sam,” he murmured.


	3. Know What to Expect

Castiel could feel the warmth in his hands long after their encounter with Sam's. The man was gorgeous! Certainly, he had seen the photo in the older brother's wallet, and the older brother himself had been easy to look at, but...Castiel had been stunned. 

He was still stunned by the time he wandered back into his apartment. 

"You know what I love?" a voice cried out. 

"What?" he responded automatically. 

"I love when you make coffee at home."

He sighed. "Know what I hate?"

"Making coffee at home," Charlie chirped. 

"I assume you want crack in yours?"

"Yes please!" she called. 

Castiel put his coat on the hook and stepped into the kitchen to start the coffee. He smiled softly to himself. "Know what I love?"

She appeared from around the corner in her Star Wars pajamas. "What?"

"The kind of eyes that you can't figure out if they're green or brown. What's that called?"

She giggled. "You're probably talking about hazel."

"Know what else I love?"

"What?"

He sighed and went through the motions of getting her mug ready. "I love a smile that you can tell has a great brain behind it. Does that make sense? Like a smart sense of fun."

Charlie sighed. "Cas, who are you falling for? Do I need to call your sister for an intervention?"

He frowned at her while the water began trickling. "I'm allowed to find a guy attractive."

"Not without prior approval."

His eyebrows shot up. "What, forever? I thought I was nearing parole!"

She shrugged and grabbed one of the cookies from their stash. "I'll text Anna to check, but I'm pretty sure you got a life sentence after choosing that guy with the reaper tattoo."

"That was just a weekend thing. I didn't expect him to turn into a stalker."

Charlie shook her head at him. "When you consistently choose poorly, your sister and I are forced to choose for you. I don't make the rules."

Castiel sat on the kitchen stool while he waited for the coffee to finish. "I think you'd like him."

"You like him. That's reason enough to believe there's something very wrong with him."

"Not all of my choices are poor!"

"Remember Balt? The guy who cheated on you, then acted like you were the one who stabbed him in the back?"

A familiar hurt tightened his chest. "I remember."

"And Inias, who left you for that girl who yelled a lot?"

His eyes closed, and he leaned his chin into his palm. "I remember."

"What about Matt Uriel, who punched you on his way out?"

He flinched. "Yes, Char-"

"Or Raphael, who became Rachel without even warning you she was transitioning?"

His eyes flew open, and he stabbed at her with his finger. "For the record, I supported her, just not the fact that she slept with me but didn't think talking to me was important."

"Luke, who took one look at your ex, Mike, and ran off with him-"

"This is not a fun game!" Castiel whimpered. 

She patted him on the arm. "And this is why all future applications for installment as Castiel Sterkte's boy toy will be managed by his handlers. Anna and I are convinced of your complete incompetence, and have usurped all your decision-making privileges until further notice."

"Know what I hate?"

"When I'm right?"

Castiel sighed. 

***

Dean lay on the bed and stared up at the dark ceiling. The television was on, but he hadn't seen or heard it in a long while. When he remembered to turn it off, the room became unbearably still. There was rain hitting the windows outside, and he thought about it falling on his Baby's windshield. 

Why was he still there? He had done what he had set out to do. He wasn't going to give in and bother his brother, so what was the point in staying in the area? 

The young man turned onto his side to shift his stare to the rain. Whenever possible, he parked directly outside his motel window so he could keep an eye on his car. And something about watching the rain droplets splash on the black hood under the street lamp was comforting. 

"How many storms have we been through together, old girl?" he whispered into the darkness. "How many times have you kept me safe when the world was coming down around me?"

His Baby slept through the rain as though she didn't mind a bit. He wondered if he would be more comfortable in her front seat instead of alone in this empty room. 

Always alone. 

Dean's life was a long list of empty rooms. There was the room where he waited to hear about his mother, while John hissed angry words with Grandpa Campbell in the hall. There was the room at school where they had him sit until his father could come pick him up and they could tell him what a difficult child he was. There was the waiting room where he wondered if his brother was going to blame him and hate him forever when he broke his arm jumping off that roof, and where he ran through his head all the things John was likely to say when he found out Dean had taken Sam to the emergency room. There was the room he sat in trying to concentrate on a test when all the words were blurring in front of him, all the other students finished and gone, but Dean stuck staring at words that made no sense to a boy who hadn't eaten in three days in order to be sure his brother had the money required to go to the museum with his classmates. There was the room where he waited for the economics teacher to score his exam to find out if he was going to graduate on time. There was the room he had stood in and stared at the sharp, perfect military corners on the bed Sam hadn't used for months. 

Endless empty rooms, endlessly lonely. Now that he had left John and home behind, every night was spent in another empty, lonely space. He had gotten good at finding day labor, and when he couldn't, he found a bar to hustle pool instead. Whatever kept gasoline in Baby's gullet and sandwiches in his own was enough for him. 

Most weeks, he did okay. 

So when he had chosen to drive to Palo Alto to check on Sam, he had been free to do so. It might be two days' drive from where he was, but there were empty, lonely rooms to be found anywhere Dean needed one. It was the one thing he could always count on.


	4. The Game is On

Sam was anticipating his delivery all day. The Spanish final had gone better than he had expected it to. With Dean's encouragement in his head, he had relaxed enough to listen for the verbal cues and trust himself to respond properly. Ellie was right. It wasn't so hard once he stopped panicking, and it wasn't all that different from the Latin he had studied in high school. 

He had an exam schedule that could be called manageable. One a day for five days, with a one day break in the middle, on Sunday. He knew some kids who tried to pile all their exams on the same two day block, so they could leave for semester break early. But Sam had no where to go. He had already received permission to stay on campus, and had scheduled himself for every shift at the library that was open so he could save up some money. It would give him something to do anyway. It was promising to be a very lonely holiday, in a cold, empty dorm. 

But there was a tiny tangle of hope in his stomach now. Was it possible he might have contact with Dean? He had spent all night gathering the courage to dial his old home phone number, and when he finally did, he was told it was disconnected. So whether John knew Dean had come or not, Sam couldn't be sure. Whether John ever intended to speak to him again or not...Sam couldn't know that either. 

And he had no way of finding Dean to thank him for reaching out. 

But there was another delivery scheduled for that day, and he looked forward to it with all his heart. 

Sam practically pounced when the knock came. "Hello!" he cried out. "Yes, hello, come in! Cas?"

When he threw the door open, the blue eyes looked startled at his intensity. "Uh, Sam. I, uh...Coffee?"

He grabbed at his cup and immediately sought out the handwriting. He sighed happily. 

"It's...I mean, he said that was okay. I thought it..."

Sam laughed quietly. "Get it done, bitch," he read. 

Castiel shrugged. "He said it wasn't..."

"It's perfect," he choked. "Cas? I want them all. I won't ever tell him you didn't wait to give them to me one at a time. I mean, not the coffee. The cups. The coffee is fantastic. I just mean...I want you to give them all to me now."

The older student shook his head. "I promised him I wouldn't. He said you..."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "He said I what?"

"He said you would be stubborn and impatient, and he wanted me to say no. That is, if you didn't throw the first cup at me and tell me to get lost."

It broke his heart that Dean would even consider that Sam wouldn't accept the gesture. "I would never do that."

Castiel watched him curiously. "Sam? Is it rude to ask you why he won't come himself?"

He smiled sadly. "You want to come in? Ain't exactly a hallway kind of conversation."

The young man's cheeks pinked mildly. "If...You don't have to..."

Sam laughed a little at this too. The guy was adorable. It was like Dean had ordered his favorite coffee to be delivered by the cutest kid he could find. "It's okay. It might be nice to tell somebody if you want to hear. You in a hurry?"

The dark head shook quickly. "Not at all," he breathed.

Sam's room, he was convinced, had once been a supply closet, before they realized they could fit a kid on scholarship in there. But he had been lucky enough to have his own room, so he couldn't complain about the lack of space. He had his pullout bed and a chair, and that was about it. When he and Castiel were as comfortable as they could be, he told his story. 

"So...I'm from Kansas."

Castiel smiled shyly. "I can hear that."

It was Sam's turn to feel warmth reddening his cheeks. "Yeah, I guess so. But there's Kansas and then there's Kansas. Somebody asks, I say I'm from Lawrence, which is small enough. But the truth is I'm from the country outside Lawrence. We moved out of the city when I was a baby. When my mom died."

Compassion flashed across Castiel's eyes. 

"We had..." He laughed a little sourly this time. "We had nothing. To say we had nothing wouldn't even be close to the truth. We were so far below nothing, we would've had to claw our way up to nothing. Dad did what he could, but...He wasn't really all with us after my mom died, you know? Talked about avenging her, like somebody had done it to her. Couldn't ever accept that it was just a house fire, no matter what the police reports said. Used to tell my brother and me demons took her. When that started, my big brother began putting some distance between me and my dad, tried to be what I needed himself."

"Good brother," Castiel said softly. 

Sam smiled and took a sip of his coffee. It was amazing how it warmed him all the way through. "Yeah. He was. Is. Anyway, Dean barely got out of high school. But I was top of my class."

"That couldn't have been easy, considering," Castiel murmured. 

The freshman looked up from his coffee cup. For the first time, he really processed how handsome this man was, with concerned eyes and tight lips awaiting his story. "Thank you. For saying that. I mean, I had a lot of chances Dean didn't have. But I worked hard too. And it paid off. I'm here, on a full ride. But I think everyone, even Dean, just assumes it was easy for me. Like being smart meant I didn't have to try."

"Plenty of smart kids don't get in to Stanford, Sam. It takes the ones with heart and muscle behind the brain to make it."

Without warning, tears stung at his eyes, for the second day in a row, and Sam suddenly realized how tired he was. How burnt out and how alone he felt. How cold. 

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, of course. Never told anybody all this before."

Castiel nodded. "Take your time. I wrote all my exams as essays or projects this time around. I'm essentially done. I've got lots of time, and I want to hear more."

He took a shortened breath and let it out too fast. "Thank you. Really. You're..." He huffed. "You're really above and beyond the call of duty already, delivering the coffee."

He shrugged and gave him a soft smile. "I'm just curious how two brothers who are clearly both good men, and who care about one another so much, can end up estranged like this."

Sam licked his lips and tasted the vanilla. "It was my fault. I made him choose. I shouldn't have done it. My dad was angry that I wanted out. Hurt, probably. I didn't see it that way, but I guess my dad thought of it as me wanting to get away from him and the life he built us. It wasn't a healthy home, but it was the best he had been able to give us, so I guess it hurt when I was so happy to get away from it. And I made Dean choose between us."

"He didn't choose you," Castiel guessed. 

"No. And I've thought of it almost every night since then, and he did the right thing. I was heading out where I had room and board and an education and adventure waiting for me. Dad had nothing but us. I always thought of Dean taking care of me. I guess I never realized how much he felt like he had to take care of Dad too. Of course he couldn't leave Dad. But at the time, all I could think was that Dean had let me down. I begged him to come with me, to get out too. And...it probably hurt him how much I wanted to get out too."

"Shouldn't have made you choose between your family and your education," Castiel insisted in a low voice. 

Sam shook his head. "That's what I thought too. But that's not what they saw. They saw me running away from the best they could give me."

"Sam, you deserve to move on."

He nodded a little. "No, I know. But that doesn't mean I handled it right. I flew out here with twenty dollars and my acceptance letter in my hand, and it was still more than I ever had in my life. Dean never had that much. If he could have had it, he gave it to me instead. And I took it."

"He's proud of you, Sam. That was obvious even to me. He doesn't resent you, Sam. He just misses you."

The freshman smiled at him with gratitude. "Cas? I...I gotta study tonight. I have no clue what to expect from my Ancient Civilizations exam. But then...well, Saturday's test is at eight in the morning, then...then I've got my easy ones on Monday and Tuesday. So...Saturday evening...I was just going to lounge around the dorm...Most of my friends will be gone by then. Would you...want to maybe..."

Castiel smirked at him. "Get coffee?"

Sam chuckled. He could feel his ears burning. "Maybe."

"How about this? My housemate is going to be gone for the weekend, till Sunday night. I can make some dinner, and we can just relax. Watch a movie or something."

He couldn't help his grin. "Yeah. That...that's great."

"We'll talk details when I deliver tomorrow. What time will you want it?"

Sam's eyes widened. 

"The coffee, Sam," Castiel laughed. "What time should I swing by tomorrow?"

It was just as well he was drinking caffeine and studying tonight. It was going to be another night of no sleep, but this time, he felt completely warm.


	5. Preparing

Sam had opted for a noon delivery, which was just before his Ancient Civilizations exam, and he was so glad that worked for Castiel. Having received Dean's message with Castiel's sweet, shy, crooked grin, he was the only one walking into the exam with a smile on his face.

**_DUDE. YOU'RE SAM FREAKING WINCHESTER._ **

He had actually snickered to himself at one point during the test, when he realized there was a trick question. Who did this prof think he was dealing with? He was Sam freaking Winchester.

Castiel had smirked a bit. "So? Kiddo. Bitch. Sam freaking Winchester. These are good things?"

Sam grinned at him. "They're the best things. A kid in our neighborhood, back in fifth grade, once called me a freak, and before Dean could pounce, I clocked him right in the face, sent him to the ground. Kid had bothered me for two years, and I guess that was just the last day I could turn the other cheek. Called me a freak, and I just laid him out. Dean looks at him and goes, yeah, he's a freak. He's Sam freaking Winchester, you asshole. I don't think my brother had ever been prouder of anything in his life than me wrecking a kid twice my size just because I was tired of hearing that word. Came up anytime I lost confidence about something. Sam freaking Winchester. God, I miss my brother."

So he finished his coffee and his exam, and winked at the professor on his way out, earning a laugh.

For Saturday morning's final, he looked at his cup every time he realized he was grinding his teeth.

**_KICK IT IN THE ASS, LITTLE BROTHER._ **

He licked his lips to taste the vanilla lingering on them on his way out of that test. He headed right for the shower, feeling relief of the sort that only came during exam week, when you realize that, for better or worse, that class is over and nothing can be done about it now.

He had time for a quick nap before meeting up with Castiel. He burrowed naked into his blankets and sighed happily. The worst of his exams were over. He had what he hoped madly was a date with a hot guy tonight. And his big brother had reached out to let him know he was Team Sam. Things were better than they had been...maybe ever.

He grinned to himself, and reached a large hand down toward a building, thickening need. He had spent a week on his academics, and had neglected the rest of him. While caffeine was still coursing through him, he may as well enjoy his dancing nerves.

He touched himself slowly, letting his eyes soften and slip closed. He couldn't wait to see Castiel's sweet smile again, and hear that delicious voice.

***

"I'm allowed to have a friend over!" Castiel insisted into the speaker phone as he tidied up the apartment.

"No. Not without me looking him over first."

"He's perfectly nice!"

"They're all perfectly nice before they sleep with you." Charlie was sighing. "Dude, I'm sorry you have zero luck with guys. But for your own health and wellbeing, and the fact that my nerves can't handle you getting gutted again, can you please be careful with this one? Like, really, actually careful? I love you, man, but you have got too much heart, and that's always been your problem."

"It's just dinner, Celeste," he moaned hoarsely, putting his hand over his eyes. "I'm not marrying anyone. I need to get laid. Okay? Can we just-Seriously? Just let me get laid, and you can scold me and tell me you told me so all you want when he turns out to be an asshole,"  
he promised.

Charlie sighed heavily. "God, Cas. Everything would be so much easier if you weren't such a needy slut."

"Tell me about it."

She laughed at last. "Okay. Have fun. Just...don't give away anything you might miss later, okay?"

"Yes, Mother."

"I'd be like the badass Weasley kind of mother, wouldn't I?"

"Of course. Complete with hair color requirements."

This seemed to satisfy his easily distractible friend. Castiel hung up and continued wandering the apartment putting things in their places. Charlie was a complicated mix of prefectly organized and a complete and total clutterbug. She collected everything. But she had a complex system of organization that he knew by heart, and after he had taken care of his own things, he had worked on hers until he heard the door bell.

His heart fluttered. He licked his lips and smiled. "Sam," he breathed happily, and hurried toward the door.


	6. Sweet Music

It all went south when Sam saw Monday's cup.

Castiel had made by hand the most amazing lasagna Sam had ever eaten. It crossed his mind that Dean would be falling in love with Castiel himself if he could taste his cooking, and it made him giggle a little to himself. That thought had shocked him when he realized the implication was that he himself was falling for Castiel, and that was scary enough to sober him. But soon, he was smiling and laughing at Castiel's wicked dry humor, and he forgot to be scared at all.

They had discussed movies. Castiel had revealed Charlie's vast collection of fantasy and science fiction, and Sam had felt like he was surrounded by all his favorite things. When he admitted that he had read the middle school library's copies of _Harry Potter_ until they were falling apart but hadn't been able to afford to go to see the movies, Castiel considered the conversation over and demanded they begin their marathon.

Sam could not remember ever being more content than he was, sitting on Castiel's couch, full of Castiel's food, watching Castiel's best friend's favorite movies, and sneaking closer and closer to Castiel's warmth as scenes ticked by. By the time the sorting hat was twisting Harry's stomach into knots, Castiel gave up all pretense and put his arm around Sam, earning him a grin. Sam settled in, feeling warm and safe and pleased.

Sam was swept into the films for a time, and progression with Castiel stalled. It was only when he asked for the bathroom that something changed. He stepped through Castiel's bedroom to get to it, and on his way out, something caught his eye.

Half-hidden by a set of books on a shelf was a cup with his brother's writing on it. He didn't dare touch it, though he badly wanted to. He stared at it hungrily.

"Cas promised him. I didn't."

But that wasn't the point, and he knew it. Dean was reaching out, and Sam should let him do it the way he wanted to.

There were two empty cups stacked into one another.

Two. Monday and Tuesday.

Two.

Sam took a deep breath. "So I could be a good, trustworthy brother for Tuesday's, and be a shitty, impatient brat for Monday's. That's probably..." He shrugged. "Honestly, that's probably better than what Dean would do." And when it came to moral conduct, Sam found it easiest to just be a little bit better than his brother. That was good enough for him.

So he did not reach for the cups to dislodge Tuesday's and read it. But he did approach and get a better view of the one whose message could be seen.

He smiled to himself happily. "If you say so, big brother," he whispered.

"Sam?" Castiel called. "All okay?"

"Yeah," he breathed. "All great."

 ** _GO GET IT, TIGER_**.

Sam emerged from the room to find Castiel's attention focused on the movie. He watched the man for a moment, hearing Dean's voice in his head. "Go get him, Tiger," the voice whispered. Sam smirked to himself. Maybe it wasn't what Dean meant specifically. But Dean wasn't there, and Sam wasn't above a little literary interpretation.

***

Castiel's eyes were slipping closed. He was leaning on the arm of the couch, waiting for Sam's return, and the weight of his own finals covered him, pushed him into the cushions, and made him want to sleep. He was finished with his own tests. He had turned in his composition to his harmony and counterpoint professor, and had knocked out his Anatomy of the Human Hand research paper early, so as soon as he knew Sam was coming over, he gave it one last sweep for errors and turned it in early too. The atonal interval ear training course final had been done in a private session, and Dr. Visyak's classical theory exam had been a performance that Castiel was more than ready for. He was finished. But he was tired.

One minute, he was listening to Hermione scold Harry for being reckless, and imagining Charlie telling her flatmate the same thing, and the next minute, he didn't care how reckless he was being, and he didn't open his eyes either, because Sam's lips were on his, and they were amazing.

There was a light brush of fingertips at Castiel's throat. It made him suck in his breath in a stutter, and then he could feel Sam's grin. The kiss that had been hesitant before gained in confidence, and Castiel couldn't help a tiny whimper that jumped from his mouth into Sam's.

Sam's kiss was incredible. Supernatural, maybe. It was the just the kind of kiss Castiel liked best, the sort that was more soft lips than tongue, the sort with fingers on skin, with passion but not urgency, the sort that he might like to continue all night long.

When at last, Sam pulled his smile away, and his hazel eyes sparkled in front of him, Castiel sighed contentedly. "I never got such a great tip just for a bit of coffee before."

"Well, my brother never ordered me a delivery of gorgeous and amazing before. So I guess this is new to us both."

Castiel could feel himself melting under the words, under Sam. "You know...I was supposed to be helping to keep your stress level down during finals. I wonder..." He stared up at Sam while a shiver of want ran through him. "I wonder if I could...you know...be of some further assistance?"

A sly look came over Sam's face then.

He held his hand up as Sam began to lower for another kiss. "But...not out here. In there."

Sam glanced at the bedroom, then back at him. "Why?"

"I feel like Hermione would disapprove." He glared daggers at the little figurine standing with arms folded over her chest and a wand in one hand, on Charlie's desk in the living room.

Sam chuckled. "Okay, but I noticed, um...I can't if Dean's cups are in there. It's like he's watching."

In less than a minute, two stacked, empty cups were thrown crookedly over top of poor, unamused Hermione, and Sam and Castiel were free to provide stress relief to one another without feeling like someone else was there judging.

The evening was a blur of hands in hair, salt and fever in mouths, want spiraling into need, and all in a lovely rhythm. Castiel had often found himself composing music while making love, but there had never been a symphony like this before. Sam was patron, composer, luthier and musical doyen. Sam played him with passionate abandon, and the intense music that flowed through him and from him was a lightheaded ecstasy, building to a triumphant culmination, exploding into a crescendo which left him entirely without breath. He was Sam's opus, his instrument, his every beat and tone. He was both composed and conducted, struck and plucked, until every chord was played out.

As the cacophony settled into a sweet hum, his maestro lay still and sated beside him, happily staring at the ceiling.

"Sam?" he whispered into the comfortable quiet.

"Yes, Cas."

"I'm glad you like coffee."

The man gave him a handsome smile. "So am I."


	7. Night Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little note to see what Dean's been up to...

The rain was coming down on the roof, but Dean didn’t mind. It had been a good night as far as his life went. He hadn’t been able to find a job for the past two days, but he had cleaned up on rich, arrogant college kids at the bar. Then he had offered to walk a very drunk young woman back to her apartment, and was rewarded by learning she had been watching him since she had entered the bar completely sober. 

“I bet you’re great,” she muttered as she leaned in to kiss him. He had enjoyed the sweet taste of liquor on her lips, but had steadied her as she rocked back on her heels. “Yup,” she reported. “Great.”

He chuckled now as he thought of it. He had drawn the line at actually jumping into bed with the woman, but he hadn’t minded being looked at that way. Her tough smirk, her accent and her dark eyes had hit him right in the gut, and possibly a bit lower, and it had occurred to him that if it were a girl like that, maybe he wouldn’t mind something that lasted a bit longer than just a few hours. He tried to give her his phone number. “You can call me when you’re sober.”

She had shaken her head sadly. “This is a one night only offer. Heading to the family ranch in the morning. Won’t be back for three weeks. And I’ve seen my share of drifters. You won’t be here that long. I can tell.”

Dean had shrugged, but had not denied that she was probably right. She had patted his cheek and closed the door in his face.

He had made his way back to his Baby just as the rain began to fall for the third night in a row. Now he raised a beer bottle to his lips and sighed. “Here’s to one-hit wonders, Baby.” He patted the dash and tossed his empty into the trash bin. “Welcome to the Winchester Motel,” he muttered. “We don’t have cable, but we do have room service.” He considered opening another beer, but was too weary. Instead, he lay back and watched the rain fall on the windshield, and mentally counted his winnings for the night until he fell asleep.


	8. That Kind

Castiel lay awake long after Sam had passed out beside him. He could still taste the man, could feel him inside and out. It was exactly what he had needed.

Sam had been shy but committed. The determination in those hazel eyes was probably the cutest thing he had ever seen. It was like Sam was trying to convince himself that this was okay. And it was far more than okay. It was incredible. Sam was something from legend. But he still watched Castiel with something like anxious worry when it was done.

So Castiel had taken over the next round. When Sam had recovered, and his body had expressed interest in an encore, Castiel had taken the reins. He had pushed Sam into the bed, let those amazing eyes stare at him in awe, and had worshipped the man's flesh in earnest.

The sounds from Sam were a sort of music Castiel had never studied but suddenly wanted a PhD in. He had never had such a grateful, expressive lover before, and it thrilled him. With Sam, there were none of the games others liked to play, no pretending, no false coyness. Every time Castiel wanted to try something different, he had asked, "Is this all right?" and the sweet adoration in Sam face when he nodded was gorgeous.

It was what had always been missing in his love life, Castiel realized as Sam slept beside him, curled into him to keep warm. Castiel brushed his calloused fingers over Sam's soft, sable hair while he thought.

Sam appreciated him.

It was a sad thing to realize that this simple thing, this acknowledgement of his contributions, had always been lacking in every other relationship. Sam was the first lover who had ever thanked him.

Castiel was damn good at what he did, and he knew it. But the level of entitlement that other lovers had shown, their insistence that his efforts were simply part of their arrangement, had made him feel entirely inadequate, and, ultimately, empty.

He had told himself it was greedy to want that too. These lovers had given themselves to him, let him do what he loved to do, bring pleasure in any way he could. To expect them to express gratitude for his efforts...Well, that was just childish.

But now, he lay awake remembering his favorite parts of the evening, and they all had to do with Sam smiling at him with soft satisfaction and sighing, whispering his thanks in a dozen different ways until those eyes slipped closed, and he was an unconscious bundle of beautiful draped over Castiel and his bed.

But thanks...That came at the end of something.

Castiel closed his eyes tightly. He continued to stroke Sam's soft hair, but there was a new desperation in his movement now. He became frantic to memorize how the man felt, the way he smelled and sounded as he slept in peace. That little purr of a snore, Castiel wanted to remember that. The smell of sweet sweat and sex and Sam, he needed to store that away too. The way his limbs were heavy on Castiel, the way he pushed in to keep warm...

The musician smiled sadly. He wished he could be given the task of keeping this man warm forever. He never minded anyone in his personal space the way others did, and if there was anyone he wanted sharing his body heat, it was this gorgeous thing right here. And who deserved to be cared for more? This man had lived a difficult life so far, and fought his way to a better life, and it cost him all those who had ever loved him, all the warmth he had ever had in a cold life. Castiel desperately wanted to help him stay warm and strong, to support him the way no one ever had. Even his brother, who obviously loved him and wanted him to be happy, couldn't really understand the way Castiel could. And no matter how many coffees he ordered for his little brother, he couldn't keep the physical cold at bay like Castiel could.

He cringed as he realized what he was thinking. He cursed inside his own head, and scolded himself silently.

 _This was a weekend_ , he reminded himself without mercy. _A really good weekend_. _But he got what he came for, and so did you, so don't torment yourself thinking about what's next. You know what's next, and it isn't more of this. It's you in a cold bed wondering what the hell is wrong with you. It's you fighting to sleep in the night and struggling to stay awake in the day, and wanting to curl up and die most of the time. It's you remembering that you're the kind of guy they screw, not the kind of guy anyone loves. That's what's next. It's staring at every coffee cup a little too long; it's searching every crowd on campus for a guy six foot four and gorgeous, hiding if you ever do see him, and then getting your heart slashed when you finally see him with someone else._

_You're the kind they screw, Castiel. You're not the kind anybody loves._

He took a deep breath, and he nodded to himself. "It was a great weekend though," he murmured sadly, and he continued sweeping soft brown hair from a beautiful face, and refused to cry.


	9. Coffee to Go

Sunday flowed like a dream. Sam awoke to the smell of coffee and the taste of minty lips. He wrapped his strong arms around his coffee angel and pulled him down into the bed to protect the contact, and since he had not brushed his teeth as Castiel clearly had, he planted his own mouth far lower, sneaking into the man's clothes with sleepy eyes still closed. Castiel gave one half-hearted protest, but Sam had always been a quick study, and he had developed a confident understanding of how Castiel liked to be touched, and the man was soon moaning in appreciation for Sam's first thought of the morning.

After seeing that Castiel's morning was starting off as well as Sam's, the freshman moved on to his coffee, which Castiel reluctantly poured into Dean's cup. "You'll get the last one tomorrow and not before," he said firmly. "I try to keep my word. You're a bad influence."

Sam had grinned at that, but let it go. Instead of trying to coax his last cup out of Castiel, he drank his coffee happily, and dove into questioning the older student on every subject he could think of. There was nothing he didn't want to know about this sweet man.

Castiel indulged him with growing bewilderment, as if he could not imagine why Sam wanted to know more. Finally, he began to laugh. "Sam, you've been interrogating me for an hour. I feel like you already know more about me than anyone but Charlie ever has! Is there something you're trying to get at?"

The hazel eyes were wide with interest. "I just want to get at all of it!" he breathed.

"All of what?"

"All of you!"

Castiel's head did that curious tilting thing it did whenever he was deeply considering something Sam said. His eyes lowered off to the side, then raised again to meet his. "Sam, there isn't much to know. I'm a musician. That's all there is to me."

Sam blinked at him with a confused smile. "No it isn't. You're a friend, a brother, a lover, a student, and you make great coffee. You volunteer at a boys' home in New York in the summers, teaching piano and guitar with a friend named Robin, and you've seen Prague. You work at the cafe to earn money for your participation in some global scavenger hunt I still don't understand, and you follow an organization called Random Acts on Twitter. The things you do for fun are all about helping someone else. Lots of it has to do with music, but that's not all you are. Being a musician is a big part of you, but having an amazing heart is part of what makes you a good musician. You're obviously talented and dedicated, or you wouldn't be at one of the best music schools in the world. But you're balanced and down to earth too." Sam grinned again. "And you also love sex, and you're amazing at that too. That doesn't have much to do with being a musician."

The competition between pale and pink on Castiel's handsome face was probably the most adorable thing Sam had ever seen. "You'd be surprised," he whispered hoarsely. "I got up this morning after sleeping with you, and wrote two sonatinas, both called _Samson_ , one of which is entirely dedicated to feeling my hand in your hair."

Sam could feel his smile bursting with fondness for this man. "Will I hear them?"

"If...if you want. If I can polish them up and finish in time."

He watched as Castiel snapped his mouth shut, as though he had said something he hadn't meant to. "What do you mean, in time? In time for what?"

Castiel licked his lips with a pink tongue, and shook his head. He gave Sam a weak smile. "I just mean...if you still want to hear it by the time they're finished, of course I'll play it for you."

After that, Sam didn't get any more questions in. Anything else he might have said or asked was cut off by a passionate kiss, and that had led them back to the bedroom. This time, Castiel was insistent upon taking care of Sam, as if it were all that mattered in the world, and Sam was so blown away by the musician's touch that he couldn't have argued if he had wanted to. When at last, they both lay on the pillows again, Sam reached a hand up to Castiel's face and smiled happily. There was something like awe in his voice when he spoke.

"Thank you, Cas. For everything, thank you."

The blue eyes closed in a frown, but Sam was too exhausted to wonder why, and within minutes, he was hard asleep again.

***

Castiel would not budge. The last cup would be filled with coffee from the cafe as a reward for a job well done on Sam's Monday exam. Tuesday's exam was a paper for Intro to Justice Research and Reasoning. Sam was nearly finished with it. He had a friend look over the citation, and emailed it to his professor late Monday morning. His Sociology of Law exam was as easy as he had hoped it would be. The other students didn't seem to think so, but he had been fascinated by the material, and had done every scrap of required reading as well as the optional recommended reading, and he had even read most of the professor's own publications.

Dr. Raphael was a bit of an asshole, but he was a genius, and Sam's own background made him curious about socioeconomic implications of law creation and enforcement. Dr. Raphael that there were too many of his fatherless "brothers" in cages, buried out of the public view. The arrest rate among minorities from disadvantaged homes was astounding, and it perpetuated a cycle of fatherless homes. Sam appreciated the perspective, but wasn't sure Dr. Raphael was offering much in the way of useful solutions. He didn't see how violent offenders could simply be let out of their cage without society suffering the consequences. Sam would rather see efforts going toward breaking the cycle at an earlier step, before things got out of hand, and that was the research he had committed to for his other exam, which allowed him to study the same subject for two classes. His paper was full of well-documented solutions that had worked at small local levels and had potential for working at a much larger scale.

So when three o'clock rolled around, Sam was heading to the cafe with a grin on his face and a sense of astounding relief permeating from his every pore. He was done. A day early, and he was done. For the first time in weeks, he felt completely warm and content, and even a little proud of himself. He hadn't just survived his first finals at Stanford. He had rocked them. A few words of encouragement from a brother he had feared had been lost forever, a few coffees and a few kisses from a gorgeous man with a beautiful heart and amazing hands, and Sam was able to muscle through the most academically challenging few days of his life.

He deserved a coffee, a kiss, and another message from his big brother, and all of those were waiting for him at the cafe.


	10. Mary Did You Know

"Steve?"

Castiel was staring at the door. He had been doing that for the past half hour, and he was beginning to feel like an idiot, but he couldn't help it.

"Steve?"

He sighed. This was probably going to be it. It was the last cup. Especially considering what this last cup had written on it, this could be his last interaction with Sam Winchester. He knew he was a good guy, and maybe he would call or swing by the cafe to break things off in person. But Castiel couldn't help wishing he had more links to Dean to hold over Sam. Maybe literally if the guy weren't so tall.

"Um...Steve?"

And really, Sam was too tall by far. It was awkward, in fact. It had felt as if they fit perfectly, but that was just the heady daze of good sex. Sam was entirely too tall.

"Steve, excuse me."

He narrowed his eyes as he thought of it. Sam was pre-law. He probably had no understanding of a serious musician's work. He wouldn't tolerate the hours and hours Castiel had to pour into his craft on a daily basis. Every other lover who had tried to become a fixture in Castiel's life had resented his dedication and focus, and he had found himself apologizing for the thing that meant the most in the world to him.

"Sir!"

Castiel startled badly at the woman's shout. "What?" he cried defensively.

"You're holding my coffee hostage! I've paid for it. You made it. I'd like to drink it. That's how this works."

He blinked several times, then began to flush red as he noticed the cup still sitting out of the woman's reach. "I'm so sorry. I'm...I just zoned out. I'm sorry. You should have called my name."

The woman grabbed her drink and threw her left hand up in exasperation. "Merry Christmas," she sighed. "Hope your day gets better, Steve."

Castiel caught his forehead in his palm. He was glad the cafe was nearly empty. The holiday music was beginning to grate on his nerves. He called back to let the girl on duty know he was turning it off.

"Only if you're going to play!" she called back.

Castiel looked over at the sad, donated piano sitting lonely in the middle of the student center. "It's out of tune."

"Only so you notice. The rest of us can't tell that it's just barely off. We only know because you keep telling us."

He sighed. "Okay. If you'll turn off the pop holiday crap and watch the counter, I'll play something on the out-of-tune piece of furniture over there. Any requests?"

"Yeah, that you stop bitching."

He smiled a little. "I think I know that one."

"If you don't, learn it," Rachel added, emerging from the kitchen with a rag to wipe down the counter. "And while you're at it, I wouldn't say no to Carol of the Bells."

He scowled irritably. "On a mess of a piano," he complained, before he remembered the first request. Then he sighed, and approached the old instrument to sit. Even the bench was suspect.

He let his long fingers brush the keyboard lightly, almost lazily for a moment. There was a songbook there, from the 1980s, no doubt, but it included no holiday music. That was all right. He pulled out his phone and strummed through his extensive collection of sheet music. If he didn't own it, the college probably did.

Within just minutes, he was reading through the music, nodding to himself, and then he closed his eyes and began. Castiel had always been able to read a piece once, and play it from memory ever after. He played by ear sometimes, but he found it easier to memorize a page of music in one breath, and store it away. He rarely accessed his collection of music more than once, though he deigned to delete any of it. Just in case. Charlie had discovered his enormous hoard of songbooks and sheet music, and had immediately researched an app which could store it all digitally. He still had the physical boxes, but at least any new items he purchased did not add to the clutter. She had even coaxed him into composing almost everything on his computer now, instead of by hand.

Carol of the Bells drifted into a challenging version of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, and then he found himself lifting Greensleeves from the keys. Before he knew it, his bad mood had abandoned him, and a bit of wistful melancholy was all that remained.

Perhaps Sam would come for his coffee, give Castiel his dismissal with a sympathetic half-smile, and be on his way. No reason that should be upsetting. He had been a beautiful weekend. That was all. He'd had to keep up the illusion that he would be around longer, in case Castiel became spiteful. Sam couldn't risk not seeing his brother's message, after all. And he felt sure Sam had enjoyed himself over the weekend too. Some levels of enthusiasm couldn't be faked, he thought with a smirk.

So if it was over today, let it be over. Let it be a good memory, and go back to...to being what he had been before. Lonely but fine.

Lonely but fine.

Just like Sam's big brother Dean, he suspected. A man like him didn't need anyone. Perhaps he was lonely. Perhaps Castiel couldn't sleep some nights because he was aching for some warm touch and a soft smile. Perhaps he watched people constantly because he wanted companionship so desperately. Perhaps he called Anna or watched movies with Charlie simply to keep from hurting alone some nights. Perhaps...

"Cas, what the hell are you playing?"

"Les Miserable," he said quietly.

"Stop it! This was supposed to be holiday music!"

He sighed. "What do you want to hear?"

"Silent Night."

A frown drifted across his lips. "I could pick out any three year old to play that."

"Then play something harder, but make it a holiday song!"

He groaned. With much effort, he began Mary Did You Know, which made Rachel roll her eyes, but she didn't say anything. At least it wasn't a dirge.

That was how Castiel realized he had fallen for Sam Winchester. The whole world was in minor key.


	11. Last Cup

The student center was empty, except for a few kids studying alone here and there, brooding over their coffees. All the televisions that normally showed the sports or news of the day, CNN, CSPAN and ESPN, as well as the local channel, were now black and silent. It was almost eerie. All that Sam could hear as he walked in was a rendition of his favorite holiday song.

He stopped to listen, leaning against the wall contentedly. A deep, exquisite, trained voice joined the music after a very long wait, and Sam's eyes filled with tears immediately.

 _Mary, did you know that your baby boy_  
_Would one day walk on water?_  
_Mary, did you know that your baby boy_  
_Would save our sons and daughters?_

_Did you know that your baby boy_   
_Has come to make you new?_   
_This child that you've delivered_   
_Will soon deliver you._

_Mary, did you know that your baby boy_  
 _Will give sight to a blind man?_  
 _Mary, did you know that your baby boy_  
 _Will calm a storm with His hand?_  
 _Did you know that your baby boy_  
 _Has walked were angels trod?_  
 _And when you've kissed your little baby_  
 _Then you've kissed face of God?_  
_Oh Mary, did you know?_

Sam listened beyond the poor acoustics and the weary old piano, and he realized that the voice and hands behind the song were those of his lover from the weekend past. He gasped through a sob, and flinched. He pretended not to know why the song was hitting him so hard this time, but it was impossible to ignore now.

 _Mary, did you know?_  
 _The blind will see the deaf will hear_  
_The dead will live again!_

Sam's eyes closed, and tears slid down his cheeks against his will.

_The lame will leap the dumb will speak  
The praises of the Lamb._

_Oh Mary, did you know that your baby boy_  
 _Is Lord of all creation?_  
 _Mary, did you know that your baby boy_  
_Will one day rule the nations?_

This would be his first Christmas without family. No, there had never been a perfect Christmas, not in all the years he had been at home, and sometimes John didn't make it home, and Santa had never brought much, but there had always been one person who was always there, no matter what else went wrong, the one he had always been able to count on. And this would be the first Christmas without him. All month, he had pushed that thought back, buried it under layers of finals stress and daily tasks.

 _Did you know that your baby boy_  
 _Is Heaven's perfect Lamb?_  
 _And the sleeping child that you're holding_  
_Is the great I Am?_

He had chosen this. He had left. And it had been the right thing to do. But now...He would have given almost anything to have Dean with him for the holidays this year. John's boys, together again, probably hustling pool at some bar to pay for beer. Mary's boys laughing together and smacking one another on the back, telling the good stories and forgetting about the bad ones for a few nights. Mary's boys. Could Mary have imagined how much Dean would mean to him one day?

_Oh Mary, did you know?_

As the vibrations from the old piano faded out, and a bit of applause, from the few people who had not yet gone home to join their families, rang out, startling the musician. Blue eyes looked up and turned immediately to the door, where Sam was standing like a stone.

Castiel hurried to his feet and rushed to his side. "Sam? What is it? What's wrong? Tell me what you need!"

Sam couldn't help smiling at the amazing, powerful voice filling with quiet panic. "I'm fine, Cas. You play the hell out of that old piano."

The musician relaxed visibly. "Oh. Well, there's plenty of hell in it to be played out. They want me to play it, but they don't know how painful it is to hear it. It needs tuning, and that's the least of its problems." He sighed. "Sam, what's wrong? Can you tell me what you need?"

Then the long arms were around him, holding him with a desperation that might have embarrassed him had there been anyone around to see. The other students had returned to their work, as if they were completely unaware that they were in the presence of a musical genius and a man having a breakdown. "I need you, Cas. Can I...Can I have you?"

A flash of fear crossed Castiel's eyes when he looked at him again. "Sam, what do you mean? How can I help?"

"Cas, I want you. Maybe...maybe you were just looking for something for the weekend, but...Cas, if you give me the chance, I swear you won't regret it. I can make you happy. It struck me just now that maybe you're just waiting to give me my last message from Dean, and then you'll consider us done. I can't...I don't want to be done. Please."

The man was breathing shallowly now, his eyes lowering. He took a step back, and Sam's heart fell.

"You...don't want that." The tears were renewed, and he blinked up at the ceiling to get them under control. "No, okay. That's okay. I just thought...But that's fine. Thank you for everything. I'll just take Dean's message and go..." An emptiness was hollowing him out, and he began to feel a numb chill creeping into his skin. It would reach his bones soon, and he would spend hours trying to get warm again, alternating between the shower and his blankets on his bed. And he would still be alone and cold tomorrow. And the next day. And all through the lonely holiday, when everyone else had family to go to, and all he had were a few cups and a sad melody running through his mind, keeping him from rest.

"I want that," Castiel murmured toward the floor.

"What?"

At last, the blue eyes raised again. "Sam, I want that. I want you. But...but I'm not...I'm not the kind..."

Hope broke through his blur of tears. "Cas?"

"I'm not the kind..." The flinch sent empathetic pain straight to Sam's heart. Castiel licked his lips before beginning again. "I know what you want from me, and that's fine. It doesn't have to...You don't have to pretend it's more. I understand. It's enough just to...It's what I want too. Okay? No pressure, no commitments, no...I'm just glad you want something." He laughed humorlessly. "It's easier that way, right? We both get what we want that way, and nobody..." His voice, that incredible voice, was failing him. "Nobody has to get hurt," he choked out. "So don't pretend. Just...just find me when you...when you need something." He huffed out another laugh. "God knows I'm always up for that, and you've been the best I ever had, so..."

Sam shook his head. "What? What's happening here? Are you-are you telling me we can only get together for sex?" Anger dripped into the hole in his heart. "You want more than that, and I'm telling you I do too, and you don't believe me, so you're limiting us, because you think I'm not being honest? Because you think...you think I'm going to lead you on for easy sex?"

Castiel's shoulders curled in as the cringe overwhelmed him. "I'm saying that if that's-if that's what you really want, I'm-I'm okay with that. It's better than you walking away completely. I can't...I know I'm not the kind of guy that anyone commits to, Sam. God, do I know it. But it hurts more when they pretend, and they make me care about them, think they care about me, and...And I can't go through that again. So just tell me the truth, and we can move on. That's all I'm saying. Give me the music to read, and I'll play it, but you can't change the song on me. I don't improvise that well."

Sam's face was tight with anger. When he spoke, it was with a quiet, dangerous tone. "Castiel, you've only known me a week. In that time, when have I ever given you reason to think I was a liar? Or a shallow creep? Because I want to know what the hell could possibly make you think I was capable of callous shit like that. I like you. A lot. But if you think I'm probably an asshole underneath, then I clearly misjudged you as much as you misjudged me. And you did, by the way. You were way off."

Panic played on Castiel's face now. "Sam, please. I just mean-"

"You mean that you're a doormat and I'm free to wipe my feet. And that's not how I operate, and it shouldn't be what you expect!"

A strangled sob emitted from Castiel's lips now. "I never expect it!" he hissed in a quiet scream. "I never see it coming! I trust, and I love, and they break me, and I can't anymore! I misjudged you? I misjudge everyone! Every person I've ever cared about, except my sister and Charlie, I have been blindsided by. I'm just protecting what's left!"

Sam's heart betrayed his anger by filling with love for this man. He sighed heavily, and took the musician in his arms. "Cas? I'm going to let the whole assuming I'm an asshole thing go, because obviously you've got a history of choosing them. But I'm falling for you. The sex is fantastic, for the record, but that's not what I need most right now. I'm grateful for the way you've seen me through some of the hardest days I can remember."

"Stop thanking me," he whispered.

He smiled and held him tighter. He was glad the other students were oblivious to their conversation, because he could feel Castiel begin to sob in his arms. He pulled the man back to the piano bench and sat with him. "No," he said finally. "I'll never stop thanking you. It's a consequence of you being so good to me."

"It's too late anyway," Castiel groaned, pushing himself away to attend to his tears.

"What is?"

"Not falling in love with you. It's too late. Stupid or not, here it is, and it isn't going away. And it's worse than it's ever been with any of the others. Every time you thank me, I fall in deeper."

Sam grinned at him and cupped his cheeks in his hands to kiss him lightly. "Thank you," he murmured. He kissed him again, and a third time. "Thank you and thank you."

Castiel burst into a defeated laugh, and tears splashed down on the keyboard. "You're impossible."

"Cas, thank you for giving me a chance."

"You're going to be a pain in my ass."

Sam nodded. "Yeah," he said while forcing the musician to look into his eyes. "Yeah, but not in your heart. Okay?"

Castiel nodded, closing his eyes against the panic. "Okay," he whispered.

"Could I order a coffee?"

"Oh!" Castiel shot to his feet. "Of course. I've got it in the back."

Sam watched him leap for the cafe door, and he sighed happily. He would have to be gentle with this musician's heart. But he never minded a challenge.

When the cup arrived, his gaze searched for the pen marks. Castiel was still holding it for him, so it did not fall when Sam lost his grip. "Cas!" he breathed.

"He made me promise, Sam. Not till your finals were over."

His heart began to pound. "But, Cas! Is this...?"

Hazel eyes looked at blue with hope. Castiel shrugged and smiled. "It's his cell phone number, and the motel he will be in. In case you didn't mind seeing him after all."


	12. The Road So Far

Dean licked his lips and took a breath. "Dad? You eating anything tonight?"

Silence greeted him.

He sighed and hung his jacket on the wall, and took off his boots without a sound. He wasn't sure when he had begun feeling like he was intruding in his father's home. A few weeks after Sam left, he supposed.

"Uncle Bobby called. He said to tell you hi."

"No he didn't."

Dean shrugged. He reached down to pick up three beer cans, and a dropped blanket from the living room floor. "No. He didn't," he admitted. "But he might if you acted like you cared he's still calling."

"Sam call?" His father did not look away from the sports channel. Dean felt certain they hadn't looked at one another in a week.

"No, sir. Sam ain't gonna call. You know that."

John said nothing.

Dean nodded, and swallowed with difficulty. "Dad? Uncle Bobby mentioned...said that now Aunt Karen's gone, it's lonely at his place. Said he wouldn't mind some help around the shop too. You two used to be friends, you know."

"He didn't come see Mary laid out."

"He was in Japan, Dad. And he came as soon as he was back."

"Wouldn't help me hunt the thing that killed her."

Dean nodded again. It was one of those days. "Thing that killed her was a fire, Dad."

"Don't talk back to me, boy. It was what set the fire that I needed Robert to help me hunt. And he wouldn't."

"The demon," he said softly, and continued straightening the room which had become his father's prison.

John snarled at the television. "Of course, the demon!"

He didn't even cringe anymore. He was numb. "Okay. But I'm sure some other hunter took him out by now, sir. So what do you think about what I said?"

"About what?"

He ground his teeth. He made a trip to the kitchen to start water boiling for dinner, and to check that the pipe he had fixed yesterday had not begun leaking again. He tossed out the trash and set the dirty dishes into the sink. He would wash them before bed. At last he returned to their conversation. "Dad, what would you think about going up and staying with Bobby for a while? Helping him around the shop."

"No."

"Dad, you haven't...Sir, I think it would be a good idea to-to consider it. It would be good for you to-"

"You just want me gone."

Dean's chest took the brunt of the punch from the words. If John was pulling that trump card this early in the evening, it was going to be a very long night. "Dad, no! That's not-"

"Getting desperate too, if you think I'm going to take charity from Bobby Singer."

"No! I mean...No, sir. I just thought if you could get in the shop again, do some work with your hands-"

" _You_ thought!" Finally, John turned to face him. The sight of the red eyes and glare made Dean's throat constrict. "You thought? Just like you thought Sam leaving was what was right for him? You remember any one of us asking what you thought, boy?"

Dean stood at attention, hands clasped behind his back. It seemed not to matter how old he got. His father was his commanding officer. "No, sir," he answered back in a clipped tone.

"Think that demon just waits for me to leave town, waits for me to go off and he can burn another place to the ground? And it's been talking to you, whispering in your ear. Maybe Bobby's too. Just waiting for me to pack up and leave."

This was not his father. Dean said it over and over in his head, countless times as a child, and nearly every night since Sam left. This was not his father.

"Maybe Sam too. I think that thing came and whispered to Sam. Told him to leave me too. It's just waiting."

He would never know if John had these episodes before the fire. There was no one to ask. He had shielded Sam from them as much as possible, tried to let him have the normal childhood he deserved to have.

"You're just too stupid to see it."

Dean nodded, blinking against tears pricking his eyes. He was so tired.

Now that Sam was gone, he worked nearly constantly. He had two full time jobs now, and if playing poker for money could be called a job, he had a part time one as well. He spent an entire paycheck, at the body shop, supporting himself and his father, and the other, from selling expensive cars with his charisma and expertise, he stored in a place John would never go. A bag of cash had piled up under Sam's old bed. Each time he earned extra commission, he took it and doubled it at the poker tables the other salesmen ran every payday in the showroom after hours. Dean squirreled most of it away, and sent the rest to Bobby to double at the tables in the Roadhouse where he spent most of his nights. Bobby always retuned it with a fifty percent profit, and a note telling him he better not be buying John liquor with it.

It was important to him to build up enough money to be able to care for Sam if something happened. No matter what, he had to be able to take care of his little brother. Dean had taken the job at the dealership the day after Sam had left, and had worked every shift the body shop would give him. If he couldn't get work or a game one day, he went to the bar and hustled pool and darts until no one was drunk enough to play against him. Then he would go home and clean the house, try to make his father eat, and then fall into bed for another short night. He counted his money in his sleep, calculated his bills in his head, devised worst case scenarios in his heart. Those Algebra teachers back in high school would have been impressed. His world had become one big mathematics word problem.

So when his father said the same thing he had said all his life during these episodes, Dean couldn't help the tears this time.

John shook his head. "Too stupid to see it. And your brother too stubborn."

"Just like you? Dad, you and Sam..." He hated the exhausted sob coming from his throat now. "You two are so damn smart, and so damn stubborn. And I know Mom was too. And that freaking child out there that we never told Sam about, the one whose mom I send part of my paycheck to every month, Adam, he's real smart too, ain't he? So where the hell did I come from? Because everyone says I'm just like you, but that's not true, is it?"

John stared for a moment. Then he began to laugh. "Of course you are, son," he replied viciously, settling back down into his chair to watch the television. "You got demons in you too."

Dean frowned, and blinked, then blinked again. His lips parted, and he suddenly felt as if he weren't getting enough air, as if his blood weren't reaching his extremities. He could hear the water kettle begin to shriek behind him, but in his mind, it was his mother's scream.

He took a step, two steps, then stopped. "Dad?" he hissed. "Did you...ever see the demon that killed Mom?"

John didn't speak at first. Then he smiled softly at the screen. "Some days are just fine, and he stays where he belongs. But that night...I saw my eyes turn yellow, for the first time, and I knew what I had to do."

Sickness rose in his throat, and he couldn't breathe. "You gave me Sam. Told me to run." Memories long buried threatened to smother him then. "But the smoke. I didn't-didn't smell it till we were already..."

"I waited till you two were out. The demon wasn't there for you. It was just Mary."

Now he could smell the smoke again, could see the flames, feel the heat. He could hear himself telling the baby that it was all right, that it was okay, Sam, Daddy would save her. Daddy was a hero.

Daddy was a hero.

Dean dropped to his knees then, gagging against vomit. He had eaten nothing today, and he could taste acid. His hands clenched the carpet blindly.

"I think your grandfather was the only one."

Dean raised his eyes to stare as John spoke in that thoughtful tone.

"He knew I was the demon. Samuel could see the yellow eyes. But no one else could, and no one else would listen to him."

Then he felt John turn to look at him curiously.

"And you. You always knew. I always thought one day you'd avenge your mama. Hunt the demon. How many times did I tell you to over the years, Dean? Just too stupid to see it. You knew I was the demon. It's why you wouldn't let Sam near me some nights. But you were too stupid to see you needed to hunt me."

"Dad," he heaved.

"Demons don't die if you don't hunt them, Dean."

He sat up in a daze. "No, sir. No, sir, they don't."

John looked in his eyes a moment longer, then he nodded and sat back in his chair with his gaze fixed on the television.

It was midnight when Dean had finished packing the Impala. He made the call first, from the landline. Then he watched the half pack of cigarettes burn into the old sheets, watched them catch. He tossed the last cigarette into the beer bottle to preserve it for the investigation.

"I love you, Dad," Dean whispered as the flame caught. "You're right. We got the same demons inside us. But it'll be our secret. I promise. I'll never tell Sam."

As far as he knew, John never awoke. The police called to let him know his father had fallen asleep smoking in bed, and asked where he wanted the body to be taken.

"Bury him next to my mother, Officer Mills," Dean said coldly. "Someone has to keep an eye on him. I did it for my whole life. It's her turn again."


	13. On the Hood of the Impala

Sam's hands were shaking. He misdialed twice before he got it right. It was answered on the second ring.

"Hello?"

He smiled at the sound. "Hey, Dean."

There was a hesitation, then a huff of a laugh. "Took you long enough, brat. You like the gift I sent you?"

He broke into a cackle, and all his stress washed away. "Yeah. He was delicious."

"No details."

"Why'd you come, Dean?"

There was another pause. "Didn't know where we stood."

"Where do we stand?"

"About six three, as I remember it."

He smirked. "Try six four now. Shot up after I started eating vegetables that didn't come from a can."

Dean snorted. "Probably just stood up straight for once." He sighed then. "Sammy, I ain't going to bother you. I said I wouldn't. I just..You got my number now. If you ever need it. And I mean for anything."

"Do I have to need something? Or maybe...could we just hang out?"

Dean laughed nervously. "Uh, no, I don't think...You got a life now, Sammy, and it don't include me. It's better that way. You don't need the old demons from Lawrence chasing you wherever you go. I'm gone anyway. Had to keep moving. Left last night, in fact. Halfway to Texas now, me and my Baby."

"Oh yeah?"

He cleared his throat. "You're sitting on the Impala right now, aren't you?" One of the window curtains moved.

Sam waved.

"You little bitch."

He laughed and hung up. When Dean finally came out of his motel room, Sam handed him the black coffee and made room on the hood. Then he sipped at his latte and sighed happily.

Dean stared out at the lot, and smiled wearily. He drank from his coffee, then cleared his throat. "Sammy, Dad's dead."

The younger man flinched. "Jesus," he swore. "Why?"

Dean looked at him strangely. "Why? Don't you mean how? What kind of question is that? Why is he dead?"

"Okay, fine. How?"

Dean looked back at his cup. "Guy got drunk while I wasn't home, and he fell asleep with a cigarette, and..." He shrugged.

Sam's eyes began to sting. "Dad was smoking in bed? He never smoked in bed!"

"He never sang Bon Jovi either, unless he was drinking. Then he was all about living on a prayer."

"Wow."

They were silent for a long time. Sam felt a thousand emotions flow through him all at once.

"Dean, if-"

"No. I already played that game. For three weeks, I been playing that game. I am the star and the coach of that game. I won't let you play it too."

"But, Dean? If I hadn't-"

"I said no, Sammy. This one is not on you. This one...this one's on him. He was sick, Sam, the whole time we knew him. And we both know he did the best he could. He loved us. But there was something in his head that wouldn't let him go, and this is the only way that man can have peace, so just let it alone."

Sam watched him, and made himself nod. "Okay. Yeah, okay. You...you think he found peace?"

Dean's eyes burned into his cup, then he sighed and lifted it to his mouth. "Let's hope so," he breathed, then he drank and the conversation was over.

Sam chewed at his lip. "What about you? You stayed to take care of him." Dean looked up in surprise, and Sam felt a flush warm his cheeks. "I realized that after I left all pissed off. I'm sorry I didn't realize it before. That you couldn't leave him no matter how much you needed to go. I just saw how much he hurt you. I didn't really see how much you helped him."

His brother shook his head. "It doesn't matter anymore. I did what I could. You can't always save the people you love, Sammy. Just like Dad didn't save Mom."

Sam frowned at that, but he didn't question it. "Yeah. I guess so. So what now?"

"What now? I buried him. With Mom. Most of the firetrap went up with him. What was left, I gave away or sold for gasoline."

"Not him, Dean. What now for you?"

The older man took the top off his coffee and stared into it. "I don't know. I been finding day jobs. I'll worry about me. I'm not your problem."

"You're my brother."

Green eyes flicked in his direction, then back at the coffee. "What about you? Can I wingman or can I wingman?"

Sam broke into a smile, dimpling his face, and let his hair fall into his eyes as he lowered his head. "Yeah. You did good."

"Honest, I started to go up to the cute girl whose tag said Cassie at first, but Steve looked like he was more your type. His name was Cas too, I guess."

"Yeah." Sam licked his lips.

"You bagged that, didn't you?"

"Saturday night," he confirmed as his blush washed over his cheeks.

Dean burst into laughter. "That's my boy! I fetch, you catch."

"Damn good fetch, Dean," he snickered.

"I know what my kid likes," he gloated, and he reached over to muss Sam's hair. "Give you a pair of big blue eyes, and a cute smirk, and you're good to go."

"I'm keeping this one."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Yeah? Really? You even know his last name yet?"

"Sterkte. It's Dutch." He frowned then. "Or Danish."

"I'm pretty sure there's a difference."

"Shut up. It's been a long week. Dutch. It's Dutch."

He chuckled and drained his coffee. "So I did good?"

Sam looked at him, and found that there was more than humor in his brother's face. He actually wanted Sam to tell him he had done well. He smiled fondly. "Yeah, dude. You did real good."

He grinned. "Yeah, I did." He licked his lips and lay back on the hood. "Glad one of us is getting laid. I gave up this gorgeous girl this weekend when she didn't pass the consent test."

Sam winced. "Drunk?"

"Way too drunk. It sucks too, because she was checking me out before she got drunk, but I didn't notice till it was too late. Hot. I mean, hot. And the accent..."

His brother smiled. It was surreal to be sitting here on the old Impala, talking about Sam's guys and Dean's girls, just like old times. John's death...That probably wouldn't really hit him for a few days. But this, sitting and chatting about love and lack of it...That was what he had missed so badly. "What kind of accent?"

Dean looked younger when he smiled like that. "Like this hot Cuban sound, like that actress I used to like."

"You're comparing her to a porn star?"

"She's not just a porn star! And I'm not comparing. I'm just saying her accent. It's gotta be Cuban."

"My brother, who can't tell you the difference between Dutch and Danish, but could tell you what island a girl is from after a few sentences."

"Shut up. Anyway, she was something. Classy but in a sexy way. I don't know. I must've watched her dance all night."

"Was she using a pole?"

Dean sent his elbow into his ribs, and Sam spat his mouthful of coffee onto the parking lot with a laugh. "I'm telling you, she was a class act. I even tried to give her my number."

"And?"

"She said it was an offer good for one night only."

Sam looked up. "Wait. Cuban-American woman dancing in a bar, told you the offer was good for one night only?"

"So?"

"Was her name Ellie?"

Dean frowned. "Uh, maybe."

Sam shook his head and began to laugh. "Ellie. She's a junior pre-vet. She tried to sleep with me my first week here. My default line is always 'maybe another night.' Hers is 'one night only.' When she realized I was gay, we became friends. Sort of. And I hired her to tutor me in Spanish. I've got her number. You want it?"

His brother looked startled. "No! No, of course not! She didn't give it to me, so you don't give it to me! The hell manners you learning up here in California anyway? That how I raised you, treat a woman that way?"

Sam put his hands up. "Okay, okay. Fine. I'll give her your number."

"Damn right you will."

Sam's laughter echoed over the parking lot. "I'm glad you're back, man."

Dean ruffled his hair again. "Glad you got the message."

He shrugged. "Can't resist a hot coffee delivery."

The green eyes winked.


	14. Hey Jude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flash forward...

"Sam, the pitch is too high."

"No it isn't. Your range can handle it."

"Sam. Love, trust me. It's too high."

Dean sat back and smiled to himself, listening to his brothers argue over Sam's elementary rendition of Gloria. The man wasn't half bad, though Dean suspected that had more to do with his patient piano teacher than any innate talent. He wondered how a guy like Castiel, who composed and conducted for one of the most renowned symphony orchestras on the planet, could stand to listen to Sam practice, but he was grateful for it, because it made his brother happy.

"Just try it. I'm telling you."

Castiel smirked at Dean. "He can't stand to be wrong."

"Because he never got enough practice not being right," Dean admitted fondly. He glanced at Ellie, and shook his empty beer bottle as he heaved himself up. "Otra cerveza, mi bendición?"

"With your brother playing? Bring me two more."

Dean smirked. He winked at Charlie over Dorothy's head. "How can she sleep through the racket Sam's making?"

Charlie shrugged and continued to play her game on her handheld device, with her brunette lying on her lap. "No worse than listening to me and Cas debate the merits of game soundtracks in the realm of instrumental music, which is what she fell asleep during last night. My wife could sleep through a tornado coming through the roof."

He chuckled. "Hope it doesn't come to that. When's Anna arrive?"

"Tomorrow morning. She and Kevin are at his mother's place tonight. So you better leave a little booze for them to dive into after they survive that."

Dean nodded. "Right."

He was surprised to find Sam waiting for him in the kitchen by the time he made it to the beer.

"Hey. Thought you were busy trying to make Cas sing out of range."

"So he claims. I think he just didn't feel like singing," the younger man pouted. "What's that you call Ellie all the time?"

A sudden flush of heat raised on Dean's cheeks. "Oh. Nothing."

"I'll look it up. May as well just say."

"No, I-"

"Hey, El! What's my brother-"

Dean grabbed his arm. "Shut up!"

Sam laughed at him and sat at the breakfast table with his beer. "Seriously. What do you call her?"

Dean hid his face in the refrigerator as he said it. "My blessing," he coughed.

He could hear Sam's grin in his voice. "Wait, what?"

The older man closed his eyes and turned to his brother with a hand over his face. "It's...my blessing."

"That's adorable."

"Shut up." He snatched his beers and sat down across from Sam.

"No, it is. It's cute. What's she call you?"

Even his ears were burning now. "Nothing."

"Hey, El-"

"Would you shut up?" Dean sighed. "Fine. She calls me...She says cariño most of the time, but..."

"But?"

"Mi cielo."

Sam began to smile.

He rolled his eyes. "It means..."

"My sky. It means you're her world, big brother."

Dean looked anywhere but Sam's stupid smile during a lengthy silence. He drank his beer.

"Dean?"

"I'm not the kind that...I'm the kind that rolls in and rolls out. No strings. No roots. I'm the kind a girl can have some fun with, then forget about, Sammy. I ain't the kind anybody loves."

Sam shook his head sadly. "Jesus," he swore. "You know the theory that kids grow up to marry somebody that reminds them subconsciously of their parent? I married you, dude."

Dean screwed up his face at that. "What?"

"I did. Didn't know it at the time. But especially since we finished undergrad, I notice it all the time. He's just like you."

"I don't see it."

Sam smiled at him. "I know you don't. But Dean, you rolled in years ago. And you roll out occasionally, but you always come back. Maybe it's time to admit you like strings, and you like roots. Maybe it's time to admit that the kind of guy you are is the kind that gets married to a blessing who calls you her sky. If you asked her to, man, she'd ride off into the sunset with you, and you know it. So don't pretend like there's anything but you holding you down."

A tendril of fear wrapped itself around Dean's throat. His voice was hoarse and laced in emotion. "Dad was really sick, Sam. At the end, he was...so sick."

Sam nodded. "I know, Dean."

Tears filled the green eyes then. "Nothing I could do, man. Scariest damn thing...You left, and all sense just blew out of him. He couldn't look at me." He began to gasp, and he set the bottle down to put his face in his hands. "I couldn't tell if he was angry with me for letting you go, or ashamed of himself for wanting to make you stay, but he couldn't look at me."

"Dean, you're not Dad."

He winced and raised his eyes. "I...I love her, Sammy. And I've got this thing in my gut that says I can't take care of her. Like Dad couldn't take care of you. And everybody says...Everybody always said I'm just like him. Hell, I wanted to be just like him, till I realized how sick he was. And what if I...Sam, Ellie deserves so much better than a guy who...And if I stop moving...Decay sets in, you know? I can't..." He smiled through his tears, and shrugged desperately. "Sammy, what if I'm the same kind of sick? I can't let her build a life around me, then fall apart. When we were kids, I thought Dad was the rock. But it was Mom all that time. She was stone one, and he built on that. And as soon as she was gone...I can't stop moving, Sammy. If I do, it all comes crashing down."

"Dean!"

"I'm not her sky, Sammy. I'm her pit. And you're right. She'd fall if I asked her to. But she deserves so much better. She doesn't deserve to go where my demons are going to take me."

Strong hands came down on his shoulders firmly, and his eyes snapped shut in a flinch. "I think I should get a say in that, don't you, Sam?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sam answered softly. "He's all yours, El. Good luck."

Dean could hear the large man's bare feet pad away, and then the piano picked back up, but it was clearly Castiel playing now, and murmuring words to a song Dean knew from a lifetime ago.

_Hey Jude. Don't make it bad.  
Take a sad song and make it better._

When they were alone, Dean felt Ellie pull his hands, to make him stand. He folded into her embrace, and moved as he knew she wanted him to.

_Remember to let her into your heart.  
Then you can start to make it better._

"I never danced before you. Did I tell you that?"

She lay her head on his chest. "I know. And you don't like it now."

"I don't mind it anymore."

This earned him a squeeze around the middle, and he sighed.

 _Hey Jude. Don't be afraid._  
You were made to go out and get her.  
_The minute you let her under your skin_  
_Then you begin to make it better_.

"Mi bendición," he muttered.

"Yes, cariño."

"You deserve so much better. You know that."

 _And anytime you feel the pain_  
 _Hey Jude, refrain._  
_Don't carry the world upon your shoulders._  
_For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool_  
_By making his world a little colder._

He knew what John would think. John would tell him pushing her away was the right idea. The noble thing to do. His happiness for Ellie's? No contest. There was no excuse for dragging Ellie into a life of settling for a messed up Winchester, the way Mary had done.

But what would Mary say?

 _Hey Jude. Don't let me down._  
_You have found her, now go and get her._  
 _Remember to let her into your heart._  
 _Then you can start to make it better._

"Dean, I've been waiting years. You disappear for months on end. You climb into a bottle or you climb into that car, and I'm just glad you don't do them both at once. You run, Dean, and I used to think it had to be that way, that you just couldn't stop. But...I know now, mi cielo. You're afraid to stop. And I've been patient, because I love you, but..."

The melody played out, but the lyrics had faded, and he was at once grateful for that and horrified at the symbolism, as if time were running out and even this sacred song were giving up on him. "I'm so sorry, Ellie."

She shook her head, and he could hear her accent thickening as emotion took her. "Dean, you leave for weeks without a word, then you call me, and beg me to see you again, and when I say I will, you cry and break my heart. Mi cielo, it isn't the fact that you leave that hurts me so much. It's that you're afraid that you can't come back. That somehow you don't know how much I love you. So if you aren't my sky, my world, if you're my pit, then, yes, I will jump in with you, and your demons too. I'm strong enough. And what I deserve is to make my own choices, cariño. The moment you take that from me, or try, that is when you may not come back to me. Until then, I will always be here when you come home. So maybe it's time to stop leaving home."

Home. The word made his throat close around his tongue, no matter how hard he tried to swallow. "El...El, I just can't..."

She nodded. "Okay. It's been ten years, Dean, since I tried to pick you up for one night. Ten years since I told you the offer was for one night only."

Shame filled his stomach. "I'm so sorry. Why do you wait for me?"

"I don't," she said softly, placing a hand on his cheek. "I have a job I love, working with the horses. I love the animals. I just shipped my mom off to Palm Springs, where she can play golf every day. I go out with your brother and his husband, and I do everything I want to do. I'm living our life, Dean. I'm just hoping one day you'll decide to join me in it."

He closed his eyes.

"And if it takes another ten years of you running before that contract comes due, I'll keep living our life. But I gotta tell you. It's a good life, Winchester. You'd like it if you gave it a try."

"And if I screw it up?"

Ellie laughed and leaned on his chest again. "I'll kick your ass till you figure it out. If you want the job, it's yours. I gotta warn you. It's hard work."

His green gaze searched those dark eyes for even a hint of doubt. But all he could see was patient love and graceful confidence. "I'm not afraid of hard work."

"I know, mi cielo. I wouldn't be here if I thought you were. I don't have time for anyone who can't carry his own weight. But you? I've got all the time in the world, Winchester."

He licked his lips. "El, I've got some money. In case Sam ever needed it. Been saving kind of..."

"Obsessively?" she accused in a playful tone.

He scowled at her. "There's a difference between obsession and dedication."

"Yes. A fine line you passed over long before I met you, when it comes to taking care of your brother."

He rolled his eyes, but conceded the point. "But he's making decent money now. And Cas is pulling in a good check, from what I can figure."

"They're going to be more than fine, Dean."

He nodded. "I-I know. I just...I didn't want Sam to ever...If I checked out the way Dad did, I didn't want...Sam needs to have a good life, cariña. I owe my mom that. I owe my dad that. They would have...but they couldn't, and so it had to be me to give it to him...But he's fine now, like you said, and..."

"Dean?"

"If you married me, I could give it all to you, and then, even if I...even if I disappoint you, maybe it will have been worth it. You know? We had nothing growing up, El, and I can't..." His chest was tight, and it felt like he would hyperventilate. "It makes me physically sick to think of you living the way we lived. I know you have a job, and you don't need anything from me. But I couldn't...couldn't even consider...Not until I had enough saved up so that I felt like it might be..." He took a deep breath and tried to swallow again. "I have to have enough money to make me worth it to you."

She shook her head. "Dean, I don't need money-"

"Yes you do!" he snapped before he could stop himself. "Because when something goes wrong, when somebody gets hurt or sick...He was broken, El. My dad was broken, and he never got better. And my mom left Sammy with a broken man and a stupid, heartsick kid, and no money, and..."

Ellie's arms were strong. She held him tight, and laughed sadly. "Okay, cariño. So how much did you think you needed to have saved up before you could ask for a woman you've already got?"

He took a deep breath. She was right. She deserved to be the one making her own decisions. "I have $854,000 in cash. It would be more, but I-I had to do some work on my car and...I just can't let her go without, you know? She's..." And the breath was coming too fast now, and he couldn't continue. "She's my home," he mouthed voicelessly to the ceiling, eyes squeezed tight.

Ellie was staring at him. He could feel her. "Dean? That's two houses."

He nodded, choking down his panic. "Or...or maybe one house with-with a little land for horses and a roof for my Baby, and a guest room for my brother, and...And it has to be cash. Right? So no matter what, it's yours. It belongs to you. I could die or-or you could give up on me, and you could have it and nobody could take it from you, and-and if Sam needed someplace to land one day, you two are friends, and he could...It has to be cash, El. I'll get more if you need it. But a mortgage, debt of any kind, it scares the shit out of me. Sam mentioned Castiel's student loan yesterday, the stuff his grants didn't cover, and I had to go for a walk to get air. It isn't even that much. I could pay it off myself, if they'd let me. It just scares the hell out of me."

Ellie pulled him back to the dining table. "Dean, I know it does. But how did you...?"

He shrugged. "Things," he said vaguely. "Fire insurance on the house. And work. A lot of work. Everything from day work to gambling to buying low and selling high. I never been good at math. Nearly failed Econ in high school. But I get how money is made. I don't need an equation or a graph to tell me how to do it. But it isn't that much, not really. Is it..." Dean looked into her eyes, and steeled himself for her answer. "Is it enough? Can I...Can I marry you?"

The woman put her hand on his cheek and stared him down. "Winchester, you need to hear me when I say this. Stop worrying and just listen. I love you. And I don't need anything from you. If you want to bring that money with you when you come, great. But that is not why you can marry me."

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. It wasn't a rejection. But it wasn't exactly what he had hoped for either.

"You can marry me because you are mi cielo and I am your bendición. You can marry me because you make me laugh, and you learned to dance."

He smiled softly.

"You can marry me because you leave for weeks, and when you come back, you act like I'm the air you need to breathe. You can marry me because I told you ten years ago that you had missed your chance, and you showed up again and swept my heart away. You can marry me because you don't take bullshit from Sam any more than I do, but you adore him, just as I do. You can marry me because you offer me another beer in that silk Kansan accent of yours, and you make Spanish sound so sexy I never want to hear another word in English. You make me happy, cariño. I know you don't like horses."

He laughed. "No. But you do. I kept Sam alive for eighteen years. I'm sure I can avoid killing some horses." He put his finger up then. "But no dogs!"

She gave him a grin that promised nothing, and kissed his lips, and the next thing he knew, his brother and their friends were congratulating him, and Ellie was dancing to whatever Cuban song Castiel was picking out on the keyboard, and Dean realized that watching her dance was all he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

A glass was pressed into his hand. He took a sip of egg nog to find it spiked beyond any doubt that it was his kid brother's creation. "Thanks," he wheezed.

Sam grinned at him. "Merry Christmas, big brother."


End file.
